


Gonna Have to Face It

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Series: Addicted to Love [1]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Chronic Pain, Drug-enhanced Sex, Fenris is the Drug, First Time Blow Jobs, First time with a man, Loose Canon, Lyrium Addiction, M/M, Mutual relief, Smut, this can't end well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:51:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7270882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen has a great idea: go to the Deep Roads with his childhood frenemy and the elf who has been driving him nuts for a couple of weeks now. </p><p>Ever since he stopped taking daily lyrium philters. </p><p>What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why Are We Here?

**Author's Note:**

> This started with an idea about demonic possession, lyrium, and Fenris' tattoos, but then the concept of the tattoos helping Cullen with his addiction symptoms became too distracting and delicious. 
> 
> Heaviest smut is in chapters 6-7. Works up from just a conversation and a grabbed arm. Start where you want. 
> 
> So... this has become my OTP. Feel free to follow me, this fic, or my modern AU Cullris fic if you need more of this pairing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen, Fenris, and Alistair end up in the Deep Roads. This explains why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9:39 Dragon

The white lines in Fenris’ skin were not glowing blue – not right now – but they still hummed like a philter tastes. “Cure possession?” His growling voice echoed off Hightown’s walls: “Is that even possible?”

 

Cullen blinked, trying to focus. Blue lyrium doesn’t sing, unless you consume it. Cullen hadn’t, not for weeks. Now he could feel, not quite hear, the song thrumming in the elf’s skin. He tried to concentrate on anything else: the perennially tousled white hair; the odd way the elf danced, even when standing still. Not the armor; not the skin. Cullen strictly kept his words on topic.

 

“You know that Kirkwall was built by dwarves during the Tevinter-Dwarven alliance, right? Well, one of the deeper chambers that the Champion uncovered actually contained old dwarven records. Really old. The dwarves could make lyrium possess certain warriors, giving them special abilities.” Here Cullen cocked an eyebrow significantly at the elf. “But what caused the Divine to bring this issue to my attention is that apparently, other dwarven scholars in a Deep Roads thaig were researching how to reverse this possession.”

 

“What? Possession? That can't be right.”

 

The white lines disappearing under the elf’s armor taunted Cullen. This happened lately every time he saw the elf, but Cullen had suffered worse. He pressed on. “We can’t be sure the process is related to your tattoos, but it’s possible. The markings must still cause you pain. They’re made of lyrium. If we can get to this thaig and collect the records we find there, then we may be able to remove the lyrium without killing you.”

 

“Knight-Commander,” Fenris began, but he was interrupted.

 

“You can reverse the last thing remaining that marks you as a slave. You can finally be free,” Cullen said just loudly enough the warrior could hear him.

 

This may yet work, but Fenris was not a very trusting elf. “What do you get out of it?”

 

I can stop obsessing about you, Cullen started mentally. “The Chantry has been searching for a way to reverse possession for ages,” he said aloud, “but more resources than ever have been directed toward the effort since Anders destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry and started the Mage-Templar War.”

 

“Anders is dead.”

 

“Yes, but there will be more instances of possession now, and we need more tools at our disposal.”

 

Fenris curled a lip, showing a flash of teeth. “Hawke took care of it with just a knife.” Then he flinched. 

 

“We’re looking for a tool that would save lives, not least because it would reduce the fear of mages.”

 

“Reduce people’s fear of mages, or reduce the fear belonging to them?”

 

“Both,” Cullen said firmly.

 

“Launch an expedition. You don’t need me.”

 

Cullen shook his head, and an ache intensified in his neck. He cut the movement short. “Although we will be well-supplied, we cannot risk either side in the current conflict finding out. Each will likely assume it would weaken their position, and the Divine wishes to be able to act as a neutral party.”

 

“Let me see if I understand you correctly. You want me to risk my life, going into the Deep Roads again, but without the support of a full expedition, on the slim chance that the process of removing these tattoos would not kill me. No.” Fenris was walking away, and all Cullen could think was that the humming would be gone. No, they could make a difference. This has nothing to do with … Cullen shoved the cravings away.

 

“Fenris, if you walk away from this, you may never be completely free.” He grabbed his arm to stay him.

 

His fingers crossed the line of a lyrium tattoo, and Cullen felt like he’d dipped them in lyrium. His bloodstream vibrated, like he was tasting lyrium, after weeks. Cullen realized faintly that Fenris was attacking, but too late: he was pressed against the wall with a glowing hand against his throat.

 

“Do NOT touch me, Knight-Commander.” The grip loosened, but Cullen was still pinned. “I have respect for what you do, but the last time anyone touched me …” Fenris' tattoos stopped glowing, and he turned away, releasing Cullen completely. “It didn’t end well.”

 

Cullen’s blood was still singing as he rubbed his throat. “That’s unsurprising.” He tried to keep his tone light, but his voice took a few words to recover. “I guess I’m lucky you respect me. Was the departed a friend or foe?”

 

Fenris looked at Cullen, still angry. Cullen felt a thrill: a challenge? No, the fight was over. “It was Hawke. So obviously he survived. But I ended the relationship.” There was a shake in his voice.

 

Maker, no wonder Fenris and Anders had hated each other so much. “Y-you and Hawke? I … had no idea.” Cullen tried to imagine a relationship between the two men, but got caught at wondering what the tattoos looked like under the armor.

 

Fenris was looking at the white lines on his arm, his bare toes. Had he read Cullen’s mind? No, focus, he’s talking about something else: “They stopped hurting. I felt almost … normal.”

 

“What?” Cullen blinked and shook his head. It was buzzing, but the ache in his neck was gone.

 

“When you touched me. It’s like you … drained the lyrium.” Fenris paused, not questioning but demanding an answer.

 

"I was right about the pain." Fenris’ lip curled at the pity in Cullen’s voice. "It - it must be my templar abilities, the ability to neutralize magic." Then Cullen blurted something absolutely ridiculous, something that would drive the former slave far away from him. "Do you know that your tattoos sing?”

 

Instead of running, Fenris raised one dark eyebrow and lowered the other, quizzically. “Did you know that you make the song quieter?” The two men looked at each other for a moment. Cullen glanced away, rubbed his neck where the ache was returning already. Fenris broke the silence: “All right, Knight-Commander, I will do as you ask. We will find Hawk’s Grey Warden friend and seek the Deep Roads.”

 

“It's actually just Commander now. I joined the Inquisition, remember.” Cullen smiled. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

 

“I never realized how much it hurt, until it was gone,” Fenris mused, almost thinking aloud. “If your cure can bring that kind of peace, I will see if I can finally rid myself of these cursed things.”

 

\---

 

“Sooo, let me see if I’ve got this straight. The Mage-Templar War is on, so more abominations, so the Chantry found dwarves talking about lyrium and possession, and so now you need a Grey Warden so you can go into the Deep Roads to collect more research so you can maaaybe find a way to cure abominations?”

 

“Hawke was right, you are a strange Grey Warden,” Fenris grumbled.

 

“That about sums it up, yes.”

 

“Sounds like fun. Count me in,” Alistair agreed cheerfully.

 


	2. Just a Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Alistair discuss the Commander while he sleeps.

Fenris watched the Knight-Commander – no, Commander now – shake in his sleep from more than cold. It was several days after Alistair had agreed to come, and they were already in the Deep Roads. Fenris had first watch. He sat on his bedroll in the cramped space, one knee up and the other resting on the ground. The fire behind him was banked. He faced the opening of the cramped nook where they camped. He should probably be staring into the darkness, but he kept getting distracted.

 

Cullen’s back was pressed to his unoccupied Inquisition armor, facing Fenris. His blonde hair curled closely against his head. His jaw and kind eyes were clenched in sleep, and he was shaking as though the warm nook was coated in ice. Strange to see the Commander so vulnerable.

 

Starting when Cullen was the first to bow in fealty to Viscount Hawke, this man had done more to speed Kirkwall’s recovery than anyone else. Unlike his predecessor, he cooperated with the city guard. Under him, his templars did anything they could to rebuild. They lost their laser focus on mages, and began doing things like clearing rubble, building walls, and dumping water on fires and people who might start them. For his detractors, Cullen called these activities “training exercises.” Hawk – and Fenris was inclined to agree – called it “good sense.” They had each had their own laser focus, missing what was important. Cullen had shown an entire city-state how to re-prioritize. Fenris sighed. He wanted to –

 

“He’s going through withdrawal, you know.” Fenris jumped in his sprawling semicross-legged position. He’d thought the Grey Warden asleep on his other side. Fenris glowered, caught looking, but the Grey Warden continued. “He hasn’t been taking lyrium this entire trip down here. The pain he’s going through must be excruciating. I’ve seen it before, but I’ve never seen anyone take it silently.” The usually jovial Warden had a touch of admiration in his voice. Then, “There but for the grace of Duncan…”

 

In his sleep, the former templar pulled their heaviest blanket around his bare shoulders, then continued to shiver violently enough that it fell off again.

 

The elf pulled the blanket back up, touching the Knight-Commander’s shoulder as he did. Both Fenris and Cullen sighed. Fenris withdrew his hand, resisted the sweet temptation of normalcy touching Cullen offered. If Anders’ presence (especially as Justice) had made the screaming song of the lyrium under his skin more insistent, Cullen soothed it, quieted it.

 

“You’re going through the same thing, aren’t you, for the opposite reason?” Alistair marveled. “All the time. And somehow touching him helps? Why don’t you … do that more?”

 

Fenris spun his head, wondered through his returning pain if he could spring at Alistair while sitting. No, not wise. “Why don’t you?” he growled.

 

Alistair laughed, the cheeky bastard. “Not interested.”

 

“Neither is he.” Fenris’ gaze was pulled, again, toward the Commander. The shaking had stopped entirely, and his breathing was normal again.

 

“Well, I don’t know how your situation affects you, but the lyrium withdrawal could kill Cullen.” Startled, Fenris turned to the red-head again. He hadn’t heard anyone actually use Cullen’s given name since the mage rebellion began. Alistair held his gaze. “If it comes to it, I hope that you can save his life. He’s been through enough.”

 

“Haven’t we all?” Fenris turned back to Cullen. This man was trying to find a cure for possession, in spite of everything he’d experienced at mage hands during the Blight. In spite of everything he’d condoned under Meredith. Or perhaps, because of both. “I will … consider it.” Fenris tried to keep the purr out of his voice, tried not to give too much away.

 

Alistair smiled. “I’ll take watch. Get some sleep, if you can.”

 

Fenris grunted and crawled under his own blanket. As he tried to sleep, the pain flowed back under his consciousness.

 


	3. Rock Bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Context for the beginning of this relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut starts in a few chapters. Good things these chapters are short.

As the three warriors fought darkspawn, they cursed various prior companions for their absence. “Damn it, Varric!” Fenris swore as a genlock grazed him with an arrow. He never thought he would miss the dwarf and his deadly crossbow quite so much.

 

“Where’s Morrigan when you need her?” Alistair said the name itself like a curse as he covered their left flank.

 

“Your apostate companion? The Templar Order has been looking for her for years.” Cullen alone refrained from this pastime. Fenris wondered how many people the former templar had once fought alongside were now dead. Cullen stabbed the genlock, finishing it off.

 

“She did help defeat the Blight, you know.” You must need to be a Grey Warden to know how to kill darkspawn while rolling your eyes. Another fell.

 

“Story time later, boys.” Fenris used his tattoos to ghost past two hurlocks, which put him in perfect position to flank them. Of course, it hurt like the screaming void. But between pain and death, he’d take pain every time. He sliced them down with his greatsword as Cullen shield-bashed into a shriek that appeared from a shadow behind him. It was the last enemy, so the three of them surrounded it, stabbing it and knocking it down any time it got up so it couldn’t slip into the shadows again.

 

The body oozed into the stone path they followed. “I’m glad your senses can keep us away from the main horde. This band was enough,” Fenris said appreciatively, shifting and rolling his shoulders to ease the stinging tattoos.

 

“Right? For all the down sides, sometimes it’s pretty great to be a Warden.”

 

Cullen was gasping, doubled over, and sweating. Alistair looked worried. “Cullen? Are you okay?”

 

“No, I am not okay. I cannot fight for half as long as I used to be able to, and we didn’t bring nearly enough water, and he’s over there, singing.” Cullen started coughing, gagging.

 

Singing? Fenris saw too much of himself in the human’s suffering. He remembered Alistair’s words: Cullen could die. Fenris knew a way to quiet that song, if Cullen would let him. And just now he might not have a choice. He put a hand on his, and as if by magic Cullen was able to breathe again. None of the men said anything as he returned to full standing. For the third time, Cullen’s touch quieted the song, but this time his hand also seemed to smolder, not unpleasantly. Fenris expected Cullen to pull away once he’d regained his strength. He didn’t.

 

“As I was saying before we quite successfully ambushed this crew, there should be a good place to camp just over here.” Alistair led the way, and Fenris worked to stay in contact with Cullen. They ended up pulling off gauntlets and gloves and holding hands. Like sappy teenagers, whispered Fenris' brain unbidden. Alistair politely ignored them as he set up their meager camp, wordlessly putting two bedrolls together and the third apart as Fenris and Cullen watched uselessly, unable or unwilling to let go. “I’ll take first shift,” he said, as if everything was normal.

 


	4. Redefining Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen rationalizes why this is happening. Fenris sets him - well, not straight, exactly ...

Nothing was normal about Fenris, or the sensations that sang soothingly through Cullen’s blood. He was all-too-aware that the pain the elf expressed silently all the time – _every dangerous sword stroke, every dancing step, every breath_ – was now gone. Because of Cullen. “Fenris,” Cullen started, standing in the center of the medium-sized camp. He raised their joined hands. “I can’t do this.” He had to clear this up, right away. But he didn’t let go of Fenris’ hand.

 

Fenris chuckled, low. Cullen flinched. “I don’t see that you have any choice. We’re going to have to work hand-holding into our routine. Otherwise, you might not have the strength to topple the next shriek, and I don’t know how many injuries we can sustain.” Fenris, as always, growled and purred through his sentences.

 

“Oh, Maker, don’t do that.” Cullen’s head was swimming.

 

“Do what?” And now that Fenris apparently wasn't in continuous pain, he also nearly laughed without laughing.

 

“Laugh. Speak. When we’re touching. It sounds – amazing.” Cullen watched Fenris’ mouth quirk in a light half-smile, vaguely aware that this was ridiculous.

 

“Knight-Commander?” The eyebrow thing again. Cullen wanted to smooth them out, set them straight.

 

Wipe out his pain, hear his voice sing.

 

“That is no longer my title. It’s just Commander now.”

 

Fenris was smirking. “Forgive me.”

 

_Is he allowed to smirk?_

 

“It must be a side-effect,” Cullen realized what he was saying, realized he didn’t care, and chuckled. “I suppose now that I’m not a templar, it’s not really my job to keep their secrets.” When Fenris didn’t comment, he continued. “You probably know that the Chantry controls the lyrium supply. What most people don’t know is that it’s not just to limit the mages, it’s also to control the templars. In order to keep templars in line, the Chantry addicts us to lyrium. Sure, it also boosts our ability to resist and counter magic, but much of that can be done without it, as our friend can testify.” Irritation colored Cullen’s voice as he nodded toward the darkness Alistair had vanished into. “The techniques are more powerful with lyrium, but it’s not completely useless. Of course, our friend’s natural talent might… ” Cullen cleared his throat, realized he didn’t want to discuss Alistair. They’d never been enemies … had they been friends?

 

“I have left the Templar Order and joined the Inquisition. When I did so, I also did something I’ve been considering for a long time. I quit taking the philters.” Cullen’s finger traced a line on the elf’s thumb, back and forth: Cullen didn’t even notice until the sibilant rush distracted him. It was an echo of a rush of confidence and power he’d become accustomed to. “It’s been alright, until we started this adventure. I don’t know if it’s because this is where lyrium is from, because the symptoms are just advancing, or – or what.” Cullen stopped tracing the lyrium tattoo; the confidence deserted him. He tried to look at Fenris’ bold stare, failed, and nearly dropped the elf’s hand.

 

The elf didn’t let him. Instead, he used it to gently lever Cullen down and leaned in close to his ear, causing a flush to creep up his neck and face. He was grateful for the semi-darkness of the medium-sized alcove where their camp was nestled. “You may say it’s all the lyrium,” Fenris growled into his ear in what Cullen suddenly thought of as a bedroom voice, “but although I have lyrium embedded all over, there isn’t any lyrium in my voice.” Cullen’s heart flopped over.

 

Fenris leaned back a few inches, looking Cullen directly in the eye. “No. No, I don’t – not with men. I have never even considered– with a man, before. How could this even – ” But suddenly, as this stuttered objection died on his lips, Cullen could imagine how this could even, could imagine touching Fenris in ways that had only ever been done to him, in Cullen's past. He wanted to touch Fenris, burned to know exactly where the lyrium was embedded. Realized that the craving for the lyrium under the former slave’s skin had covered … something else. “You-you said not to touch you.”

 

“That was before I caught you looking.” Fenris backed up just a fraction, lowering his chin but not his gaze, daring Cullen. “You don’t just need me. You want me.” It was a statement Cullen could accept as fact.

 

Cullen didn’t let go of Fenris’ hand, but his other hand tangled in the white hair at the back of his head as Cullen pulled Fenris in for a kiss. Sweet Maker, what was that. The kiss tasted like cold fire, like obsession, like drowning. Cullen was alive again, and there was too much armor in the way.

 


	5. First Hit’s Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now Fenris has his doubts. Cullen reassures him. Convincingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They figure it out. Smut next.

Cullen was panting, hungry. “More,” he said, struggling with the straps on Fenris’ armor. The elf obliged with practiced hands. Then he helped Cullen figure out his new Inquisition chest plate, discarding the fur, the metal, the chain and leather underneath. They kept their heavy leather leggings, for now. Brief moments of lost contact during this process only caused Fenris’ relief when they touched again to be the sweeter. When they were both free, they tumbled onto the paired bedrolls. Oh, yes.

 

Hopefully their new friend could give them plenty of warning should Darkspawn attack.

 

Cullen rolled over Fenris, bare chests touching, and then slid down to press his mouth against one of the lines on his arms. He did … something, and the whole tattoo surged with pleasure. It felt ... so good. Must be mutual: Cullen moaned.

 

Wait, this isn’t right. If he understood how this was affecting Cullen, this could be like seduction via the swill at the Hanged Man. Fenris shoved on Cullen’s shoulders, “Stop.” And Cullen stopped, controlling his breathing to keep from panting. The screaming song resumed, quieter for the hands still against Cullen’s bare skin. “We can’t do this. I’m using you. You are not yourself.” Fenris’ voice was rough with leashed desire and the knowledge that the pain would return for good when they separated completely.

 

Cullen laughed. “I-I worried I was using you. I can’t stop-stop thinking about you.” Cullen’s shaky voice smoothed and deepened as he tumbled through his thoughts. “I can’t stop thinking about your skin, touching you. I thought it was the lyrium, and maybe it was at first (Maker, I want to taste your skin again), but now I'm thinking about your voice in my ear, your ass in my hands, your cock in my mouth.” Cullen’s laugh was uninhibited, indeed drunken. But his eyes were clear, focused. “You are gorgeous, Fenris, and I want to use you for more than just relief. Use me back. Take advantage. I know what I’m asking.” Fenris’ resistance crumbled without its foundation, and Cullen’s kiss made his head swim. Then Cullen relented, backed off enough that Fenris’ pain whispered again. “What do you want?”

 

Fenris reached up, pulled Cullen’s stupid round ear close, and growled in his best seductive voice, “I want you to stop teasing and put word to deed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated about this little speech coming from our beloved awkward Cullen, but left it in because he's just had an intense dose of lyrium. One of the known effects of the drug? Confidence.


	6. Going Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like the label says ...

Maker. How to even start, with a man? No breasts to toy with, just hard muscle. Cullen’s cock twitched in his leather trousers. He could – no, that would ruin the taste later. These things have an order. Perhaps – no, the angles are all wrong, something would have to give.

 

So Cullen set his first goal: making Fenris moan and squirm. He started at the curving line on the side of Fenris’ neck. The tattoos tasted like metal, like blood, like joy, like lyrium. Kissing and sucking and draining the mana there also quickly gave Cullen what he wanted. His mouth traced the line down to the hollow above the collarbone where the golden skin was particularly sensitive. Cullen lingered there, savoring the reactions it gave him: an arching against his body, a suppressed moan, hands roaming hungrily over his back.

 

Cullen then decided to shift to the main tattoo trailing and branching across Fenris’ front. It had two parts: one running from the elf’s lower lip to just about even with his nipples and one starting just below that and trailing to his navel. The design was a central line with roughly parallel branches to either side. These were, in the Commander’s estimation, quite likely to help with the current objective.

 

Pressing at the bedrolls and rock below them, he moved his mouth to the hollow at the top of the elf’s breastbone. This was rewarded with a low hum of pleasure. As he traced the central line over the bone itself, he decided this was insufficient. Remembering how Fenris had responded before, Cullen pulled on the power under Fenris’ skin and cleansed the area of magic. Much better: Fenris gasped and grabbed a corner of a bedroll to muffle the noise. Oh, yes, this is what Cullen had wanted: to feel Fenris lose control in a way that had nothing to do with the burning current of rage just under the surface. To give him a moment free of pain, free of himself. And he had accomplished what he wanted. Fenris moaned his name: “Cullen,” and the desire for more, the appreciation for now was heavy in his voice. Cullen’s cock strained with blissful pain against his leggings. Time to set the next goal.

 

Cullen released the fastening on the front of his trousers to relieve the pressure. Fenris suppressed another purring moan when Cullen’s cock peeked out of the gap. As Cullen followed the line down his neck with his mouth again, the elf growled, “Let me take care of that for you,” but Cullen denied him. Instead, he removed Fenris’ lower leather armor. He resisted at first, but Cullen teased the tattoos everywhere he could reach on the squirming elf, and won the argument. The armor and cloth layers revealed a delightful, horrifying surprise.

 

The tattoos went all the way down.

 

“Oh, Fenris,” Cullen’s sympathy nearly lost him the mood, but Fenris growled in response:

 

“Your mouth right now would make up for any inconvenience of the past.” Cullen watched the elf pant and strain under his stilled hands, tattoos rippling through shivers of anticipation. Fenris' eyes begged. “Please.”

 

Who could resist a chance to right this wrong? Cullen smiled, but he still couldn’t quite jump right in. He lowered himself slowly to nibble and suck down the lines on Fenris’ chest, lowering himself down one branching line at a time, like a ladder. Cullen didn’t touch Fenris in any other way, letting the elf experience the purity of this sensation without distraction. As Cullen worked his way down, Fenris began shivering harder, but his muffled moans convinced Cullen it was still anticipation, not some negative side-effect of their strange chemistry. When he reached the end of this tattoo, he shifted to the one that curved over his right hip. He slowly traced the whitened line down the sensitive crease to his cock. When he reached the base, Fenris moaned softly and stopped shivering. There was intensity in his movements as he reached down to run encouraging fingertips through Cullen’s short curls.

 

Cullen used the tip of his tongue to trace up Fenris’ length. “Maker, yes,” groaned the elf. He wrapped his lips around the tip. “Oh, sweet Maker, I take back every curse I ever hurled at you,” Fenris babbled gratifyingly as his body tensed and arched. Now, how had Cora done that, again? Cullen swirled his tongue, trying to get the pressure right. Perfect: “Cullen, I will give you an hour to stop doing that. Maker, that feels good!” Fenris seemed as surprised as Cullen. Cullen put an arm across Fenris’ hips, and then went to work, bobbing his head a bit, trying various techniques and repeating anything that made Fenris press against that arm. He took more length into his mouth and wrapped a hand below it, and the elf growled a soft litany of praise for Cullen and the Maker and every rock and darkspawn on the path that led them here. Progress, but the milestone was not yet passed. Finally, as he slid up and down, applying pressure on the natural and lyrium ridges, this side or that, Cullen found a particular rhythm that caused the elf’s words to run together. Cullen pulled power again; Fenris’ body strained and bucked. His tattoos lit up for the first time since the darkspawn fight; Cullen felt like he was drowning in lyrium, the metallic tang blending with Fenris’ seed into something decadently delicious.

 

As he lay pressed against Fenris, watching him recover, he blearily wondered if this counted as taking lyrium. He found he didn’t care. In retrospect, it had been stupid not to bring an emergency supply, and this was much, much more fun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Fenris recovers.


	7. Exploring the Deep Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the title. But it fit way too well to resist. 
> 
> Smut.

No wonder just kissing him had been so intense. With a smirk, Fenris stood the Commander on his knees among their bedrolls before showing him another feature of the tattoos that made Cullen catch his breath.

 

Somehow, the tattoos were on Fenris’ tongue.

 

“Stay still,” he said. Then he made that … difficult. The merest touch of Fenris’ tongue on his chest caused a soft lyrium glow throughout Cullen’s body, like heat but metallic and cold. Soon it went beyond teasing flicks: Fenris seemed to have a keen sense for what Cullen responded to best. Fenris had ensured that Cullen’s knees were spread far enough to lower his head. Bracing himself by grabbing Cullen’s muscled upper arms, the elf burrowed behind Cullen’s ear, teased the soft lobe with his teeth, traced his jaw with sweet kisses while the lyrium song spread from his hands.

 

Then Fenris concentrated on his neck. Cullen twitched and hummed as Fenris traced the muscles and hollows with his tongue. Cullen’s hands twitched to touch Fenris, but he decided the order to ‘hold still’ prevented that. Fenris’ hand lifted from an arm to caress the back of his neck. The strain there was gone; the lyrium-traced fingers sent a vibrating song through Cullen’s skull. He suppressed a soft moan. There were no bedroll corners up here, and he didn’t particularly want Alistair to be alerted to their activities.

 

Fenris moved to a nipple, which he worked until Cullen was shaking, wavering on his knees and toes, legs straining to keep him upright. Still he made no noise. Fenris relented to look Cullen in the eyes, a smile quirking his lips. “Remarkable restraint. Let’s test it.”

 

Cullen was about to say, No let’s not can I lay down now, when he suddenly didn’t care anymore. Fenris dropped close to the ground, briefly giving Cullen a chance to admire the design on his back. Fenris’ teasing flicks along his cock were enough to rock his balance. Then he felt the warm, wet, lyrium-infused mouth slide over the end of his cock.

 

If having Fenris in his mouth was like taking a drought of lyrium, then being in Fenris’ mouth was like _becoming_ lyrium, crystallizing like Meredith had, singing out with every fiber of his being. Cullen lost track of time, lost track of exactly what his body was doing or what he may have been saying.

 

Just as he thought he might come or fly apart, Fenris was suddenly pressed chest-to-chest and cock-by-cock. “Take me from behind?” Cullen imagined it, thought of that perfect ass pressed against his hips and moaned his agreement.

 

Fenris left then, and started digging among their cooking supplies, of all things, swearing distractedly. Cullen shifted on his knees. “Fenris – what?” Fenris turned to another bag, and Cullen was distracted from his confusion by a more complete view of Fenris’ tattoos. His cocked ached tortuously. Then Fenris found the glass bottle of cooking oil and brandished it victoriously in Cullen’s direction. Cullen smiled. Of course. It was different, less natural lube.

 

Fenris laid down maybe a half-arms-length away and propped up one leg, rubbing a little oil on his own fingers. Cullen held out a hand for a dollop, which he slicked over his cock, mixing it with the spit already coating it. Fenris reached behind himself and moaned as he slid his fingers into his ass, which brought Cullen nearly back to the heights Fenris’ mouth had. Minus lyrium-related sensations.

 

Fenris opened his eyes and watched Cullen’s hand sliding over his cock. His eyes roamed over Cullen’s chest and legs. Cullen put on a bit of a show, flexing his thighs to thrust into his own hand. Fenris’ eyes kept being drawn to his cock, sliding between his fingers. Cullen realized with a surge of heat that Fenris was matching his internal strokes to Cullen’s. He moaned with the image again of thrusting into Fenris.

 

That was enough. “I was wondering whether you knew-” Fenris started as he flipped over.

 

“I’ll- I’ll be careful,” Cullen gasped. He held Fenris’ hip, and the surge of lyrium gave him the kind of certainty he’d learned not to trust. He mentally shoved the sensation away. He pressed the tip of his cock, slick with saliva, to the opening and grabbed the elf’s hips to pull him slowly over his length. He paused as Fenris panted, pressing back against him, body adjusting. Cullen shook with the effort of holding still with Fenris squeezed around his cock.

 

“Move,” Fenris growled. Cullen moaned and obeyed, but slowly at first. He established a steady rythmn, speeding up only gradually. Lyrium hummed through his fingers as he gripped Fenris’ hips.

 

“Touch yourself,” Cullen ordered as soon as he had enough control over Fenris’ body to keep him from landing face-first. Fenris groaned and obeyed, stroking himself in time with Cullen’s strokes, adding support below with his other hand. His ass was tight around Cullen, who clamped down on his own pleasure enough to probe at the angle Senendipity had taught him. Fenris dropped even lower to moan into the bedrolls again, pressing back into Cullen, who adjusted. Was it the lyrium or Fenris? Cullen was losing control fast. The orders hadn’t been forgotten, either, and seeing Fenris’ arm move in self-manipulation drove Cullen over the edge, leading Fenris from behind.

 


	8. The Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Alistair discuss Cullen again while he's sleeping.

They’d gotten loose cloth pants on before tangling together and passing out, which was fortunate when Alistair came for Fenris.

 

“Your shift,” Alistair apologized when Fenris catapulted out of sleep, reaching for a weapon discarded too far away.

 

“Of course,” Fenris answered shortly. He quickly pieced together where he was, why he was being awakened, and how he’d come to be entangled with the Inquisition’s new Commander. Reluctantly, he eased the rest of the way out of the ex-templar’s embrace. He expected the pain to return now, but it was monumental in its absence. “Huh,” Fenris grunted, rolling his shoulders. The movement usually eased pain that was no longer there.

 

The Warden was grinning inanely. “What?” Fenris tried to snap, and found his voice had lost some of its bite.

 

Alistair continued to grin. “He wasn’t interested, huh?” A reference to their conversation nights ago.

 

“Quiet,” Fenris rejoined brilliantly, reminding himself of old arguments with Anders. He looked down at Cullen, whose face twitched from his dreams, but who didn’t shake and sweat tonight. “You know not of what you speak.”

 

Now Alistair stopped smiling. “What do you mean by that?”

 

Fenris turned to Alistair, an ally for survival if nothing else. And in the Deep Roads, having Cullen at his best was a matter of survival. “I believe his lyrium cravings might be affecting him more than he realizes. He convinced me at the time, but now I wonder if he would have given me a second glance if it weren’t for our unique circumstances.”

 

“Hmm, I wonder,” Alistair looked at Cullen again, smile returning.

 

Fenris shifted to his other foot. “Spit it out, Warden.”

 

“We knew each other when we were younger. We were roommates, in fact. We would talk, sometimes, about the type of women we would bed or marry, if we only had the chance. Terribly isolated, Bourneshire. Anyway, we started with physical characteristics, but there were so many delightful possibilities, we decided that it might be more important to be on the lookout for other qualities.”

 

“Get to the point.”

 

“You fight for what you believe in. You trade loyalty for loyalty, but you’re no fool. You have flaws and vulnerabilities. Yet, you defend yourself and your family without hesitation.”

 

“You’ve read Varric’s account of the Champion’s misadventures. How did you miss the part where I wanted my own sister killed when she turned me over to Danarius?”

 

“Like I said, you’re no fool. But I learned years ago that family isn’t about blood. Family is about who you love, who you trust, who you would follow to the end of the world. The best family is the family you choose.”

 

Fenris remembered the curse Alistair had spoken in the fight yesterday: Morrigan. Yet Alistair had defended her role in defeating the Blight to Cullen. Fenris remembered Anders, painfully. Not a friend, certainly. Family could take strange forms sometimes.

 

“You told me to get to the point, so here it is: without breasts and that special sway to the hips, you wouldn’t normally have caught Cullen’s attention. But now that his attention is caught, it occurs to me that you’re just his type.”

 

Fenris narrowed his eyes before he realized this man was perfectly sincere for once. Of course, he could be wrong, but (misguided or not) he was trying to help. Fenris grunted his appreciation so that he would not have to commit to anything, even gratitude, before he knew his own mind. He put on his armor, picked up his enormous sword, and relieved the Warden of his watch.

 


	9. Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair claims not to have noticed, but Cullen has his suspicions.

“Nope, definitely not. I definitely didn’t see a thing,” Alistair assured Cullen a bit too hastily over breakfast. “Or hear anything.” Okay, that had to be a lie. There were several times Cullen knew he hadn’t muffled his moans enough. Plus, Alistair was grinning. “I’m just glad you’re not – you know – going to die.”

 

Well, he had a point, and if he was going to ignore something that kept Cullen balanced, there was no point in arguing. Cullen decided to play this one straight. “Well, that’s a relief. I’m all too aware how embarrassing walking in on something can be.” Alistair still remembered that incident. He was turning pink, all these years later. “We’ll give you a heads-up in the future.”

 

“So to speak,” Fenris mumbled. He was more cat than dog this morning, all languid poses and satisfaction.

 

Cullen realized that, even though they weren’t in physical contact anymore, his buzzing brain had given it a rest. He was clear, focused for the first time since he had quit lyrium. Brazen empowerment buzzed again through the edges of his awareness as he gazed at Fenris’ satisfied smirk.

 

This was dangerous. Cullen could get used to this, and yet he had promised himself to risk anything to never feel the thrum of lyrium in his veins again. The solution was to continue with their mission. They needed to collect the records from this dwarven thaig that would give Fenris a chance at complete freedom.

 

One way or another, it would never be like this again, after they returned to Kirkwall.

 


End file.
